


Overgrowth

by fElBiTeR



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Begging, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Frottage, How Do I Manage To Make All My Smut A Little Bit Romantic And Soft, Humor, Inappropriate Erections, Loss of Control, M/M, Minor Injuries, No Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Spoilers, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26081365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fElBiTeR/pseuds/fElBiTeR
Summary: Alex somehow has enough strength left in him to drag an unconscious Yassen off Air Force One and all the way into what he thinks is an abandoned building.Only, the building isn't so abandoned after all, and Yassen isn't all that he appears to be on the surface.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 17
Kudos: 128





	Overgrowth

**Author's Note:**

> I'm wondering how 800 words jumped up to 5000...
> 
> uh, so every fandom is obligated to have a vampire fic, so here's one for yalex 🙈 I hope you enjoy!<3

Alex cannot believe himself. He can’t believe himself. He can’t.

It’s one thing to patiently listen to a man's dying words. It’s another when you’ve, for some insane reason, decided to drag said dying man off an imploding plane, out of the cabin, across the tarmac, and all the way to what looks to be an unused electricity plant or a facility along those lines despite every single microscopic cell in your body screaming at you to lie down and pass out already. Where did he even find the strength in his arms to do it? From the burst of adrenaline he felt when he realized that if Yassen wasn’t already dead, MI6 was going to shoot him on sight? Or that they would lock him up, interrogate him, torture him in a million ways, each one more unsavory than the last? And the surprising thought that Alex kind of didn’t want that to happen?

Of all the stupidest things Alex has ever done in his life, this has got to be in the top three. 

Why?

Maybe because apparently, Yassen might be one of the last people on Earth willing to tell Alex about his father? Maybe because it’s incredibly _rude_ to die right after declaring your love for someone?

Alex has plenty of time to turn the question of why over and over again in his mind while dragging a bleeding grown man over his shoulder in a butchered fireman’s carry, somehow staying out of sight of the tens of emergency vehicles swarming Air Force One. None of them spot him, which would be ridiculous if not for the fact that Alex’s devil’s luck only comes into play in the most stupid of situations and the fact that the entirety of the plane is currently being engulfed in flames, red peals of smoke scorching upwards like they want to escape into the sky, grand puffs of yellows and oranges and crimson dancing back and forth faster and faster, spreading from the main fuselage of the plane to the wings to tail until the entire thing is completely enveloped in fire from the explosions, structural skeleton and all.

Alex spots the unstable figure of a girl stumbling out into the arms of several first responders. _Sabina_ , Alex thinks in relief as the trucks begin to spray down the mess with streams of white foam, fighting to tame the roaring fire.

Despite his distance, Alex can feel the heat of the flames lick at his heels, sweat running down his face. Or maybe it’s just his own perspiration from the fear racing through every nerve and every synapse in his body, fear of getting caught without having a proper explanation behind his actions. He simply picked up the assassin and left on a whim. 

MI6 won’t like that reasoning. They won’t like it at all.

Alex’s feet drag the entire way, scuffled noises scraping against the ground, on top of the fact that it feels like he’s carrying a sack of bricks, heavy like lead. 

… Or heavy like a corpse. 

Either Alex is extremely out of shape or Yassen is dead. One is more unfortunate than the other.

Alex’s knees tremble. His arms quaver. He fights through each step, slow and steady with shaky inhales and exhales like his lungs are about to give out altogether with his legs.

Not once does Alex pause to check on the assassin, even when Air Force One disappears completely out of view. Alex knows that the instant he stops moving, he won’t be able to start again. Yassen’s body is cold over his shoulder. No living person should be this cold.

Alex doesn’t know how far or how long he’s walked before he reaches an abandoned facility. He doesn’t think. He just walks right through the gaping person-sized hole in the gate, right through to the unlocked door of the building, wide open and inviting and so obviously out of the ordinary, but Alex doesn’t think. He can’t. He only powers forwards, his shoulder growing numb with Yassen’s dead weight, staggering until he reaches a lab-like space at the end of the hall that can’t be larger than an average-sized living room. Flickering narrow spectrum-blue lights barely illuminating the lab greet him as he stumbles in.

Alex unceremoniously dumps Yassen into a corner, only taking the barest of measures to narrowly avoid knocking the assassin’s head against a metal cabinet before setting him down on the floor.

Alex barely has enough sense left in him to drag himself to the entrance of the lab, tugging the steel door shut and locking it secure after two clumsy attempts and then dropping straight down to his knees, exhausted, lowering his body flat on the ground with his head tipped back. Alex vaguely notes that there isn’t much dust in the room, almost like it’s recently been in use, before he counts three small cracks on the dirty grey ceiling, feeling the freezing tiles of the floor through the back of his singed shirt, and promptly passes out.

***

Alex’s eyes shoot open at an audible metallic clang, loud and clumsy and unlike the only other person that should be in the room with him. He quickly rises to his feet despite his groggy limbs, eyes darting over to the corner where he last left Yassen.

The assassin is still there, unconscious and bleeding out all the while. 

How long has it been? 

There are no clocks in the room, and even worse, no windows. The only way out is through the metal door, thankfully still locked and untampered with.

Was there even a noise? Had Alex just imagined it?

It doesn’t matter, he decides, quietly inching towards Yassen until he’s only half a meter away.

Yassen’s chest isn’t moving. His lips have become bluish, his face clammy, grey, and pale, the pallid palettes of lifelessness, devoid of any warmth whatsoever. His body is sagged over on the floor in the exact position Alex left him in with no indication of any natural movements a person may have in their sleep. Alex leans over the assassin, quickly pressing two fingers against Yassen’s neck, to the side of his windpipe.

Nothing. No thrum of life.

Yassen’s skin is colder, colder than when he was being carried on Alex’s back.

Alex's shoulders slump in disappointment at himself. He feels like all the breath has just been knocked out of his chest. What was he thinking? He already knew Yassen was gravely injured before spiriting him away from Air Force One. Alex has minimal knowledge on the treatment of gunshot wounds, knowledge which he didn’t even get the chance to muck up because he fell unconscious before checking on a dying man.

This is the stupidest thing Alex has done, by far, bar none.

Now what?

Alex stares down at Yassen. Even in death, he is undeniably attractive, long eyelashes fanning over his cold cheeks and rigid chiseled lips just beginning to completely lose its flushed complexion, all highlighted by his deceptively delicate features.

Alex doesn’t quite know how he should feel. 

There have been over six opportunities for Yassen to have a hand in killing Alex. He took none of them, and in the end, he got a bullet in the chest for it.

Alex gently brushes his knuckles against Yassen’s temple. He wonders with a heavy heart and a prick of guilt if anybody will mourn the assassin. 

He doesn’t think so.

Alex tilts his head to the side and lowers himself until his left ear is pressed against Yassen’s chest, just a little bit off-center from the bloody bullet wound. He holds his breath, listening in for any sign of the faintest of heartbeats in the dead quiet of the room.

Stone cold silence.

Alex sighs, lifting his head. His gaze solemnly falls over Yassen’s face again.

As if right on cue, Yassen’s ice-blue eyes slide open like he’s waking up naturally from a deep slumber.

Alex slowly blinks at the sight before he yelps in alarm, falling backwards ungracefully onto his arse with a loud thump. “Y-You—What? You’re _dead_!”

“I should hope not,” Yassen says, picking himself up from the ground and dusting his shoulders off like absolutely _nothing_ is wrong with this picture. His gaze flits around the room, meticulously taking in their environment.

“No,” Alex says, shaking his head up at the assassin from his spot on the ground. “You had no heartbeat. You had no pulse. How are you alive?”

… Alex isn’t a medical expert. He could have been feeling for a pulse and listening for a heartbeat wrong. He stares at Yassen’s chest, still covered in dark red blood, remnants of a bullet wound. The assassin doesn’t look like he’s been shot at all, the very image of unruffled tranquility and impassiveness.

Alex scrambles up off the floor with a renewed fervor to keep his efforts from going to waste. “I don’t know how long it’s been since you were shot, but we need to find you a first-aid kit—stitches—to stop the bleeding—”

“—No need,” Yassen interrupts.

“What,” Alex says.

“No need,” Yassen repeats politely.

“ _What_ ,” Alex says again.

“As you can see, I am fine,” Yassen says, waving a hand down at his body.

“You were shot in the chest! You are literally the furthest thing from fine!” Alex’s voice is strained, incredulous. 

Yassen takes a step towards him. Alex takes a step back.

The assassin’s complexion continues to be pale and mellowed, as lifeless as when he was lying on the ground just moments ago. Alex’s breaths are loud and panicky in the silence of the facility. On the contrary, no sounds are coming from Yassen, even though he should be fighting hard against a punctured lung and a painful bullet wound.

A realization hits Alex hard and with great clarity. His eyes widen in terror.

“You’re not—” Alex’s voice breaks mid-sentence into a wheeze as he takes two more cautious steps backwards. “You’re not _breathing.”_

A look of understanding dawns on Yassen’s face. 

Suddenly, Alex’s heavy pants are joined by the soft sounds of another person’s quiet inhales and exhales.

Alex shakes his head, putting even more distance between them, until they’re basically in opposite corners of the lab. Yassen doesn’t attempt to approach him again. “What the actual fuck,” Alex croaks.

“Alex,” Yassen says like he didn’t just start breathing only three seconds ago. “Why am I here?”

“Good question, considering you should be dead right now,” Alex replies mildly, forcing himself to calm down. There’s nothing within arm’s reach that can be repurposed into a weapon. At Yassen’s flinty stare, Alex immediately pockets his next smart-arsed remark for another time. “You were shot by Damian Cray on Air Force One, the plane went up in flames, MI6 was on their way, and I sort of… dragged you here.”

“And why would you do that?” Yassen raises an eyebrow at him.

“Another good question,” Alex responds. “Unfortunately I don’t have an answer for you right at this moment. Please leave a message after the tone. Beep.”

Yassen ignores him in favor of checking the locked metal door, rapping on the material for some reason and peering out a small slot that can barely be described as a window. Then he stops all movements and closes his eyes like he’s straining to listen for something, which should be a pointless effort since the building is silent and abandoned.

… Right?

Yassen turns back to Alex with a rare edge of wariness on his face.

“This entire building is a trap,” Yassen says, his tone utterly neutral, betraying nothing.

The blue of Yassen’s eyes is icier than Alex has ever seen it before, nearly glowing under the dim iridescent light fixtures hanging above.

“A trap?” Alex echoes.

“To be more specific, this entire building is a nest.”

“Ha,” Alex says. “Good joke. Very funny. I didn’t laugh. Now, what do you really mean by a trap?”

“Not a joke, Alex.” Yassen looks incredibly serious. He also looks incredibly dead on his feet. He was _also_ shot in the chest. Maybe he’s just… confused.

“Erm,” Alex says. “Well, you’re going to have to explain it to me better. Because I don’t really understand.”

“This building is a nest,” Yassen says slowly, like he’s talking to a five-year-old. “A vampire nest.”

A hysterical high-pitched giggle bubbles out of Alex’s clenched throat. He swallows. “Oh my god, you’re not joking. You’ve got to be lying.”

“Would there be any reason for me to lie to you right now?” 

“And you would know this because…?” Alex asks, looking at the assassin blankly.

Yassen stares at him expectantly. There’s a brief pause before the puzzle pieces reluctantly click into place.

“Because you’re _also_ a—oh,” Alex says. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I? I’m still unconscious on Air Force One and I’m dreaming.” He suddenly hears the very same clanging that woke him up, coming from somewhere else deep in the facility, multiple chilling metallic banging sounds, like what it might sound like if someone were to kick the steel door in, like the rooms of the facility are being searched one by one. It sends a terrified shiver up his spine, a definite sign that they’re not alone in the building.

The hairs at the back of Alex’s neck stand. Horror begins to fill every pore in his body. 

This is real.

“They haven’t found us yet,” Yassen says. “But they will, soon.”

“And I’m guessing they won’t like seeing us on their territory,” Alex concludes, paling with dread.

“They won’t like seeing me on their territory,” Yassen agrees. “But you, on the other hand…”

“Me? What about me?”

“What do you think this trap is for, Alex?” Yassen inclines his head slightly.

“People,” Alex answers weakly. “People who are stupid enough to wander through a broken gate and into an unlocked building.”

“People,” Yassen nods. “Food.”

“Can’t you fight them off or something?” Alex asks, automatically assuming that they’re on the same side. Yassen took a bullet for him and declared his dying love, literally. Clearly, there is some sort of fondness going on there that Alex can’t quite understand.

Again, Alex peers at the spot on Yassen’s chest where there should be a gaping bullet wound gushing wet with blood. Instead, the blood is already dried up and crackly, and where there should be a hole, there is a grotesque wound that looks like it’s attempting to knit the flesh together, but ultimately failing.

“Normally, even for a nest this large, I could, yes,” Yassen replies, a brief glint of something flickering across his features, too fast for Alex to catch.

 _A nest this large_ , Alex thinks, feverishly. _How large?_ Followed by that panic is a twinge of an impressed intrigue. Undoubtedly, Yassen is strong, vampire or not.

“Normally?” Alex’s head snaps up to look at the assassin.

“I've sustained the loss of a lot of blood,” Yassen admits. “I doubt I could even hold my own against a fledgling in this state.”

He suddenly looks extremely uncomfortable, quickly raising a hand to clench at his chest.

“Are you alright?” Alex furrows his brows, stepping towards the assassin, momentarily forgetting why he put so much distance in between them in the first place.

Yassen holds his other hand out. “Don’t, Alex. Stay in your corner.” The assassin’s eyes are clear and deadly, quickly flickering up and down Alex’s body before settling on his neck with a laser intensity.

Alex freezes where he stands. Yassen wets his lips with a flash of pink tongue.

… Why is he staring at Alex like that? 

Yassen forcibly tears his gaze away from Alex with what looks to be a Herculean effort.

“We’re going to die when they find us, aren’t we?” Alex says. Look at him, making bad decisions with even worse consequences. He didn’t think he was going to be torn apart by vampires when he picked Yassen up and left. And now he is. At least he’ll be going out with a bang and not for MI6.

“There is...” Yassen looks like he’s struggling to get the words out, “one solution.” The assassin is still averting Alex’s gaze. It isn’t like him at all, the staring, the outward visibility of pain, the reluctance...

Alex’s jaw drops slightly in realization. “ _Oh_.”

Yassen actually visibly _winces_. “I have not… since before France. It was unusually careless of me.”

“Why are you even deliberating over this? Neither of us wants to die, so the obvious solution would be for you to…” Alex trails off awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to call it.

“You don’t know what you are asking for, Alex,” Yassen warns. “It will be incredibly painful.”

“Can’t you just knock me out and then do it?”

“There is another problem. I won’t have full control over myself. You need to be conscious to stop me from going too far,” Yassen explains.

 _Are you serious?_ Alex internally groans. He rolls the sleeve of his non-dominant hand up to reveal the pale skin of his wrist.

“Better get it over with then,” Alex mumbles, sticking his arm out. He leans against the wall behind him to brace himself. 

Yassen staggers towards Alex in an almost clumsy manner, one hand coming to rest on the wall behind Alex’s head for support, completely crowding into his personal space, not giving an inch. He gently lifts Alex’s wrist up to his mouth, positioning himself so he won’t put any strain on Alex’s arm or shoulder. A pang of something warm flutters in Alex’s chest at the thoughtful consideration.

“You should look away,” Yassen says, almost sounding apologetic, and the fangs descend, jagged and sharp, almost protruding out of his mouth like small knives. Alex does not, in fact, look away, watching in a mixture of horror and fascination as they pierce into the thin skin of his wrist. It really only hurts as much as a hard pinch or a shot at the doctor’s, like an extra-thick needle, maybe.

And then Yassen begins to suck at the bite. Instead of pain, a searing jolt of pleasure shoots up Alex’s spine like he’s just been struck by lightning.

“Isn’t this supposed to hurt?” Alex squeaks, writhing in place.

Yassen leans back and peers at Alex, still hovering over the bite. “Yes, very much. Does it not?”

 _No_ , Alex wants to cry. _It doesn’t_.

“How do I taste?” he asks instead, side-stepping the question.

“Good,” Yassen murmurs huskily against Alex’s wrist. “You taste very good.” Alex hopes that Yassen doesn’t feel the full-body shiver he fails to suppress at the assassin’s words.

Alex stays silent as Yassen continues to mouth at the skin of Alex’s wrist before resuming, and there is it again, small little heated sparks of bliss radiating outwards from the bite mark in a way that Alex doesn’t think is normal. Not that any of this is very normal in the first place. Alex does his best to make as few incriminating noises as possible, avoiding thoughts about the definite sensation of intimacy that’s causing some rather disconcerting reactions somewhere much lower in his body as Yassen cradles Alex’s arm, drinks from it with these soft sucking noises, almost like the sounds someone would make while kissing another person.

This goes on for another half a minute before Yassen stops abruptly, snapping Alex out of his pleasure induced haze. “This isn’t working. There is too little blood in your wrist for the rate at which I’m drinking.”

Alex groans. “So now what? My neck?”

Yassen shakes his head. “Big vein, but too messy.”

“So that leaves…” Alex hesitates.

“The femoral artery,” Yassen finishes for him. 

It makes sense. The thigh is a larger surface area and will probably take the least amount of damage.

Alex groans again and begins to shimmy his trousers down his legs before Yassen can have the chance to ask him first. He’s dimly aware of the assassin moving to clear the surface of one of the lab tables, one that Alex climbs onto just a few moments later.

So far, it seems like Yassen has maintained perfect control while feeding, but that guise and perpetual demeanor of calm slips into one of an intense hunger the moment Alex spreads his legs apart, shifting his right one at an angle away from his body. There are the noticeable beginnings of a tent in his boxers that he really hopes Yassen will ignore, but the assassin arches an eyebrow at the sight, skimming his fingertips way too close to it for comfort before the calloused fingers of both his hands settle on either of Alex’s thighs.

“Is that for me?” Yassen asks, amusement coloring his voice.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Alex grumbles, his face flushing hotly. “I’m a teenager.”

Yassen hums, slotting himself into place between Alex’s legs before bending his right knee up even further, exposing the highest point of his inner thigh. “This will hurt,” Yassen says softly.

“Can you just get on with it?” Alex asks, his stomach churning with a shameful anticipation. 

Yassen’s breath is hot on Alex’s thigh, juxtaposed to the almost freezing coldness of his hands pressed against other areas of Alex’s skin. Another puff of air comes, followed by a wet lick before Yassen’s teeth clamp down like a vice into the juncture between Alex’s thigh and groin.

It’s supposed to hurt. 

It doesn’t.

Alex chokes out a sob, a high wounded noise as his world explodes into a burst sensation bordering between agony and ecstasy, pain and a hazy pleasure that shoots straight to his dick. The bite mark throbs in tandem with Yassen’s sucks and a low noise comes from the back of the assassin’s throat as he pushes Alex’s leg further, spreading him wider as his fangs sink in deeper, pulling rivulets of blood out of Alex.

There shouldn’t be enough blood left in his body for it to be possible, but Alex is growing even harder.

He can’t help it. 

Alex moans, loud and throaty, one that can easily be mistaken for pain.

Yassen immediately leans away at the sound, and Alex whines at the sudden loss of sensation.

“Keep going,” Alex demands, approximately half a second after Yassen pulls off.

“You’re in pain, Alex. No more,” Yassen says, shaking his head, his brows furrowed in concern. His lips are stained a dark crimson with Alex’s blood. Yassen’s tongue darts out to lick it off his lips with a wet smack.

 _It’s not fair_ , Alex thinks, deliriously. How can that be so attractive?

Upon closer inspection, he realizes that Yassen is going glassy-eyed, just as affected as Alex is, and struggling to hold onto the last shreds of his very meticulous control. 

“ _No_.” The word tumbles out of Alex’s mouth, unabashed, coming off a tad bit too desperate. “Not pain.” He doesn’t have it in himself to salvage his pride when he needs the other man’s teeth back in him so badly.

Yassen blinks at him. “That is… unusual.”

There is a moment where Alex thinks he sees emotions warring in the cold blue of Yassen’s eyes, an inner turmoil of restraint fighting with voracity. 

“Yassen,” Alex tries begging. He sees the exact instant the ravenous part of the assassin wins out and a sort of madness glazes over his vision before he descends down on Alex one final time, plunging his fangs into the sensitive skin right next to Alex’s groin without any warning or semblance of his previous gentleness or care. Alex’s stomach swoops and his vision goes blurry as the pinprick of initial pain blooms into a profound blossom of arousal, like Yassen is somehow tapping straight into the pleasure centers of Alex’s brain and sucking all the coherence out of him. It _aches_ , and Alex can feel it all the way to the base of his spine, aching in a pleasurable tingling sensation that only builds the longer Yassen feeds on him, harshly gripping his thighs with a hold too strong to be human, gripping tight enough that when Alex looks in the mirror tomorrow, he’ll probably see mottled purple bruises in the shape of Yassen’s slender fingers, currently pressed hard against his skin.

It’s too much. The sight of Yassen’s face buried in between his legs is too much. Too much assaulting his senses. Too much pleasure.

It shouldn’t be this much of a turn-on, it shouldn’t be this hot, with sharp teeth way too close to his bits, but it is, and he momentarily wonders what would happen if Yassen were to shift a tad bit to the right and bite down on Alex’s painfully aching pick.

The brief fantasy passes as a wave of dizziness hits Alex like a two-ton truck and his head begins to _spin_ , and only then does he remember that he has a limited amount of blood in his body to give.

“Yassen, you have to stop,” Alex whimpers, not nearly as afraid of passing out or dying as he should be.

But the truth of the matter is that neither of them really want to.

Yassen responds with a throaty growl of refusal and starts sucking even _harder_ , if possible. Alex throws his head back and keens, filthy and unrestrained, canting his hips to offer his thigh further. 

Alex’s cock throbs heavily between his legs, rutting forwards against the thin material of his boxers, desperately searching for more friction. Yassen’s hands unclench from Alex’s thighs and a palm flattens itself over his stiff abdomen before slowly gliding down his belly, ghosting over his hip and settling down a finger width away from Alex’s concealed dick.

At this point, Alex can no longer tell if his lightheadedness is from a blood loss or from arousal, but what he does know is that he needs to come within the next minute or he’s going to start crying.

His hands scrabble for purchase on the table as Yassen presses impossibly closer, deeper, and all of a sudden Alex wants Yassen to crawl into his skin and live there permanently as his fervent desire spirals higher and higher, rising up an unstable crescendo, teetering dangerously off the edge. A thumb rubs back and forth on the inside of his thigh, punching out a honeyed moan from Alex’s chest.

“Please,” Alex sobs, his voice cracking into a high pitched whine. “Please, please, Yassen, _please_!” 

Alex’s mouth drops open, slightly agape, ragged breaths barely escaping as he attempts to breathe properly, right before Yassen abruptly tugs the band of Alex’s boxers lower, not nearly enough to expose his swollen erection but enough to reveal a sliver of skin right at the base of Alex’s cock. Yassen turns his head to the side and bites down, _hard_ , his velvety right cheek rubbing against Alex’s prick through the soaked material of his boxers, and then suddenly, his whole body goes rigid, growing taut like a bowstring, and Alex is gone, _gone_ , tipped over the precipice, wailing as he comes basically untouched, a scream that scrapes his throat raw, his spine arching and his eyes rolling back into his head as he spills messily into the insides of his boxers while Yassen continues to suck at his flesh, the assassin’s lips still pressed tight against Alex’s skin as he climaxes, coaxing more and more blood out alongside his flexing hips, Alex’s body tensing and quivering with each elongated suck, each messy, animalistic slurp, and most of all, the thought that _Alex_ caused Yassen’s loss of control. 

Alex rides out the final waves of pleasure with trembling shudders, the thundering pound of his pulse drowning out everything except for his subsiding whimpers and the wet suckling at his groin, suddenly much gentler than before, the unyielding pressure easing up, as if Yassen has finally regained his senses, hard unrestrained mouthfuls weaning into tender soft sips, barely even a few drops escaping now.

Yassen licks over the bite one last time to close it, Alex thinks, before the assassin pulls back with a low noise of content, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, staining it with a smear of blood before licking it clean. He smiles like the cat that got the cream, like he’s just finished ripping someone’s throat out with his teeth, which, come to think of it, is probably something he has actually done before. He looks completely satiated, and there’s even color back in Yassen’s cheeks, warm shades of life. He looks _alive_.

Alex’s stomach twists with relief, for some reason.

Yassen reaches out and closes his fingers around one of Alex’s hands, the one he abandoned feeding on from earlier. He spreads Alex’s thumb and forefinger apart and sucks the web between them into his mouth, his teeth pressing into Alex’s soft flesh, lapping at the little blood that beads up. Alex’s fingers rest gently on the assassin’s face, the tips skimming against the barest of stubble on Yassen’s jaw. Alex mewls pathetically at the twinges of overstimulation until Yassen frees Alex’s hand and returns it to him. It immediately drops to Alex’s side as he languidly slumps over on the table and onto his back, boneless and sore.

“Feeling better?” Alex slurs, his voice raspy. Yassen had better be able to kill over a thousand people after that.

“Mmm.” Yassen bends down to kiss Alex on the temple, gingerly brushing a lock of Alex’s hair to the side. “Wait here.”

Still blissed out of his mind, Alex can do nothing but lay there in a glowing post-orgasmic puddle and watch as Yassen unlocks the latches on the heavy steel door of the lab, turning back to give Alex one final reassuring glance before walking straight out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him.

Alex’s eyes slide shut in exhaustion and blood loss. He begins to drift away to the distant sounds of multiple agonized and pained screams, upwards to a hundred different scattered voices, glad that he isn’t on the receiving end of Yassen’s cold and calculated wrath.

***

Alex instinctively punches the shadow hovering over his head the moment he springs into consciousness. He reluctantly opens his eyes to the sight of Yassen, curling a palm around his nose and enclosing his face as he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Do you always wake up with such enthusiasm?” 

“Only when I wake up in the lap of a vampire,” Alex says dryly. 

Yassen shifts forwards and kisses Alex on the corner of his mouth. “You are lucky you taste so good.”

“Is that all?” Alex peers up at Yassen from through his eyelashes, blinking wide-eyed and innocently. Yassen huffs and leans down to capture Alex into another kiss, tasting coppery and metallic and most of all, _alive_.

Or at least, as alive as a vampire can be.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know if you liked the succ fic!! ;)
> 
> note: I haven't actually read eagle strike yet...


End file.
